tand she was not
married.'

'She was not married when I told you so, brother; that is, not to
Sylvester; nor was I aware that she was going to marry him. I once
thought you had a kind of regard for her, and I am sure she had as much
for you as a Romany chi can have for a gorgio. I half expected to have
heard you make love to her behind the hedge, but I begin to think you
care for nothing in this world but old words and strange stories. Lor',
to take a young woman under a hedge, and talk to her as you did to
Ursula; and yet you got everything out of her that you wanted, with your
gammon about old Fulcher and Meridiana. You are a cunning one, brother.'

'There you are mistaken, Jasper. I am not cunning. If people think I
am, it is because, being made up of art themselves, simplicity of
character is a puzzle to them. Your women are certainly extraordinary
creatures, Jasper.'

'Didn't I say they were rum animals? Brother, we Romans shall always
stick together as long as they stick fast to us.'

'Do you think they always will, Jasper?'

'Can't say, brother; nothing lasts for ever. Romany chies are Romany
chies still, though not exactly what they were sixty years ago. My wife,
though a rum one, is not Mrs. Herne, brother. I think she is rather fond
of Frenchmen and French discourse. I tell you what, brother, if ever
gypsyism breaks up, it will be owing to our chies having been bitten by
that mad puppy they calls gentility.'

CHAPTER XII

THE DINGLE AT NIGHT--THE TWO SIDES OF THE QUESTION--ROMAN
FEMALES--FILLING THE KETTLE--THE DREAM--THE TALL FIGURE

I descended to the bottom of the dingle. It was nearly involved in
obscurity. To dissipate the feeling of melancholy which came over my
mind, I resolved to kindle a fire; and having heaped dry sticks upon my
hearth, and added a billet or two, I struck a light, and soon produced a
blaze. Sitting down, I fixed my eyes upon the blaze, and soon fell into
a deep meditation. I thought of the events of the day, the scene at
church, and what I had heard at church, the danger of losing one's soul,
the doubts of Jasper Petulengro as to whether one had a soul. I thought
over the various arguments which I had either heard, or which had come
spontaneously to my mind, for or against the probability of a state of
future existence. They appeared to me to be tolerably evenly balanced.
I then thought that it was at all events taking the safest part to
conclude t